X$&5Z5 



HOLIDAY 




A 

LITTLE BOOK 

OF 

HOLIDAY PROGRAMS 

FOR THE 

PUBLIC SCHOOLS 

OF 

OKLAHOMA 



ISSUED BY 

STATE DEPARTMENT OF EDUCATION 



R. H. WILSON 

STATE SUPERINTENDENT 



v<« 



a nr it 



4 



ACKNOWLEDGMENTS. 

In preparation of this little volume the compiler acknowledges 
suggestions and courtesies from the following list of teachers and 
friends in Oklahoma: Prof. S. M. Barrett of the University of Okla- 
homa, Prof John W. Bremer of the Southwestern State Normal, Mr. 
Henry J. Miller of the Department of Education, Lynn W. Landrum, 
student in the University of Texas, Mrs. Geo. W. Holmes, A. Maria 
Crawford, Senator E. M. Landrum, Senator Frank M. Colville, and 
the Editor of Sturm's Magazine. 

GEO. A. LANDRUM, 
Assistant State Superintendent. 



HOLIDAY PROGRAMS 



COLUMBUS DAY 
STATEHOOD DAY 
THANKSGIVING DAY 
CHRISTMAS DAY 
ROBERT E. LEE DAY 
ABRAHAM LINCOLN DAY 
GEO. WASHINGTON DAY 
ARBOR DAY 



State Department oe Education, 
Oklahoma City. 

To the Teachers of Oklahoma — 

It is with very great pleasure that I present to you this little 
volume of suggestive literature in honor of these memorable char- 
acters and events of history. It is my desire that all of the public 
schools of the State may observe, with appropriate exercises, the eight 
days provided for in this bulletin and I bespeak for the children of 
the State much pleasure and profit in the preparation of their 
programs. 

I suggest that the exercises be conducted in the afternoon of the 
dates indicated with the possible exception of the Christmas program 
which might be given in the evening if preferred. In view of the fact 
that Washington and Lincoln's birthdays come so close together, it 
may be desirable in some instances to combine these exercises on 
Washington Day. I should like to insist that due preparation be made 
for the planting of trees on the school grounds immediately after the 
Arbor Day Program, and that the American flag be displayed on each 
of these holidays. 

In regard to the material used in this booklet I wish to say that 
the selections have been compiled merely with a view to proving 
a convenient source of subject matter, rather than the idea of 
arranging set programs for each day. It is hoped that this suggestive 
material may lead the pupils to interest themselves in making further 
search for the literature bearing upon the characters and events which 
they are to commemorate. I am persuaded that all teachers will take 
an enthusiastic part in arranging these programs to the end that every 
boy and girl may become vitally interested in these memorable days. 
Let every teacher hope that every child may learn some life lesson 
from the character of the men whose birthdays they celebrate ; that 
the tiniest tot may learn a lesson of loyalty from the birth of a State, 
a lesson of love from the birth of a Christ, a lesson of gratitude from 
a bounteous harvest; and lessons of health, grace and joy from the 
freshness and beauty of "God's outdoors." 

R. H. Wilson, 

State Superintendent. 



COLUMBUS PROGRAM. 

October Twelfth. 

SONGS- 

"The Red, White and Blue." 

"America." 

"Golumbia, the Gem of the Ocean.' 




COLUMBUS. 



A Sketch of Columbus. 

About four hundred and fifty years ago, there was born, in 
Genoa, Italy, a boy who was to become famous as the discoverer of 
a new world. Christopher Columbus was the son of a wool-comber, 
and was made to learn his father's trade. But he learned to read also, 
and studied all the books he could get. Genoa was a very famous city, 
to which travelers and traders came from all parts of the known world. 
Columbus was very fond of seeing and listening to these strangers, 
and he loved to go to the wharves and examine the ships from the 
different ports. 

When he was only thirteen years old, Columbus became a sailor. 
His early voyages were made only in the Mediterranean Sea, but at 
length he ventured to pass through the Strait of Gibraltar into the 
unknown ocean. Always studying and learning, Columbus had become 
convinced that the world was round, and that by sailing westward he 
would come to the eastern limits of Asia. The Portugese made an 
unsuccessful attempt in 1471 to sail around Africa, and then it was 
that Columbus determined to try to reach India by sailing westward. 

Columbus applied in vain to the King of Portugal for aid in his 
proposed voyage. He then applied to Queen Isabella, of Spain, who, 
after many delays, furnished him with three ships and ninety men. 

On August 3, 1492, with three little vessels — the Pinta, the Nina, 
and the Santa Marie — he set out from Palos, on the coast of Spain, 
to sail where no ship had ever ventured. They first visited the Canary 
Islands, and then sailed on into unknown waters. 

The sailors on the little ships soon became discouraged. They 
were superstitious — that is, they thought the unexplored sea was filled 
with whirlpools, which would swallow up their ships or lead them to 
the abodes of goblins and dragons, and even to that of Satan himself — 
and they feared that if they found any land that it would be peopled 
with monsters and horrible creatures, who would tear them limb from 
limb. Columbus alone never lost hope nor courage. He reasoned 
with his men, explained everything that seemed new and strange to 
them, and tried in every way to keep up their spirits. After two 
months' sailing, they saw birds which could not have come a very 
long way, and objects floating in the sea which seemed to have come 
from the land. So Columbus, expecting soon to see the shores of 
Asia, ordered a close watch to be kept. 

At length, on the morning of October 12th, 1492, the man who 
was watching on the masthead of the Pinta shouted out joyfully, 
"Land! Land!" and there lay before them a beautiful, low, green 
coast. 

13 



Thus was discovered by Christopher Columbus, our continent of 
America. 

In commemoration of such discovery, and in honor of the dis- 
coverer, Christopher Columbus, the Legislature of the State of 
Oklahoma, during the 191 1 session, declared the 12th day of October 
of each year to be a State holiday. 

— Selected. 

Columbus Grossing the Atlantic. 

How in Heaven's name did Columbus get over, 

Is a pure wonder to me, I protest — 
Cabot and Raleigh, too, that well-read rover, 
Frobisher, Dam pier, Drake, and the rest; 

Bad enough all the same, 

For them that after came; 

But, in great Heaven's name, 

Hozv he should ever think 

That ^ on the other brink 
Of this wild waste, Terra Firma should be, 
Is a pure wonder, I must say, to me. 

Hozv a man ever should hope to get thither, 
E'en if he knew there was another side! 
But to suppose he should come anywhithcr, 
Sailing straight on into chaos untried, 

In spite of the motion, 

Across the whole ocean, 

To stick to the notion, 

That in some nook or bend 

Of a sea without end, 
He should find North and South America, 
Was a pure madness, indeed, I must say. 

What if wise ■men had, as far back as Ptolemy, 

Judged that the earth, like an orange, was round; 
None of them ever said, Come along, follow me, 
Sail to the West, and the East will be found.' 

Many a day before 

Ever they'd come ashore, 

Sadder and wiser men, 

They'd have turned back again; 
And that he did not, and did cross the sea, 
Is a pure wonder, I must say, to me. 



— Arthur Hugh CI ugh. 



14 



The Admiral's Last Voyage. 

(Columbus at Valladolid, May 25, 1506.) 
I am the Christopher that knows no rest, 

Urged by one thought, one faith, one hope to be, 
Christ-bear erf Aye! I bore Him to the West, 

Beyond the Unknown Sea. 

There was a day the cannons of the fort 

Echoed the shouting and the loud acclaim, 

When the long walls of Palos and the Port 
Resounded with my name. 

That was the day the vision of my youth 

I saw acknowledged among actual things. 

What says the Scripture? "He who speaks the truth 
Shall gain the love of kings." 

I spoke the truth; I proved it; that great Queen 

I justified. She praised me. What remains? 

The memory of darkness that hath been, 
And bitterness, and chains. 

Those lonely days — ye came not to me then. 

Who so deserted, so distressed as I? 
Ye sought me not, yet now, good gentlemen, 

Ye come to see me die. 

I found a zvorld! As though one grasped a star, 

Presumptions to gather only pain! 
Ah, well! Salute, before he sail afar, 

The Admiral of Spain. 

My fair new land shall yield you spice and silk, 
Pearl of the sea, and treasure of the mine; 

A goodly land, of honey and of milk, 
Aye, and of oil and wine. 

Men of my race and yours shall call it home, 

Remembering me, and this shall be my fame, 

That little children there in years to come 
Shall reverence my name. 

The waves are high before my vessels' prow; 

Once more I go to seek a land unknown, 
The Lord of earth and ocean grants me now 

This one last voyage alone. 

15 



My bed is drifting like a bark at sea; 

Look yon, where yonder two white angels stand, 
The land birds of the Lord, to prove to me 

The shore is nigh at hand. 



£>• 



This wrld's an island. Nought we have to leave, 
Who thought ourselves so rich while we did live, 

"Into thy hands, Lord!" Thou wilt receive 
The spirit Thou didst give. 

-—Mary Eleanor Roberts. 



Columbus. 

Behind him lay the great Azores, 

Behind the Gates of Hercules; 

Before him not the ghost of shores, 

Before him only shoreless seas. 

The good mate said: "Now must zee pray 

For lot the very stars are gone. 

Brave Admiral, speak, what shall I say?" 

"Why say, 'Sail on! sail on! and on!' 3 ' 



"My men grow mutinous day by day; 
My men grow ghastly wan and weak" 
The stout mate thought of home; a spray 
Of salt wave washed his swarthy cheek. 
"What shall I say, brave Admiral, say, 
If we sight naught but seas at dozen?'' 
Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on! ,}i 



They sailed and sailed as winds might blow, 
Until at last the blanched mate said: 
"Why, now not even God would know 
Should I and all my men fall dead. 
These very winds forget their way, 
For God from these dead seas is gone. 
Now speak, brave Admiral, speak and say- 
He said, "Sail on! sail on! and on!" 



16 



They sailed. They sailed, then spoke the mate. 

"This mad sea shozvs his teeth tonight. 

He curls his lip, he lies in wait 

With lifted teeth as if to bite! 

Brave Admiral, say but one good word: 

What shall we do when hope is gone?" 

The zvord leapt like a leaping sword: 

"Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!" 

Then pale and worn he kept his deck, 

And peered through darkness. Ah that night 

Of all dark nights! And then a speck — 

A light! A light! A light! A light! 

It grew, a starlight flag unfurled! 

It grew to be Time's burst of dawn. 

He gained a world: he gave that world 

Its grandest lesson: "On! sail on!" 

— Joaquin Miller. 



How Sleep the Brave. 

How sleep the brave who sink to rest 
By all their country's wishes blest! 
When Spring with dewy fingers cold, 
Returns to deck their hallowed mould, 
She there shall dress a sweeter sod 
Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. 

By fairy hand their knell is rung; 
By forms unseen their dirge is sung; 
There Honor comes, a pilgrim gray, 
To bless the turf that wraps their clay 
And Freedom shall awhile repair, 
To dwell a weeping hermit there! 
— William Collins. 



17 



A Monument of Columbus. 

On the island where Christopher Columbus probably landed in 
the Bahamas there is only a rough pile of rock as a memorial. It is 
now proposed to establish and develop in the Bahamas another and 
better kind of monument to the discoverer. It will be one that will 
have material form, but still more enduring and significant existence 
in the minds and characters of the people of the island. Already an 
incorporated association has been registered in the colony, known as 
the Columbus Institute. It has the approval and indorsement of the 
Governor of the island. It is designed in a practical way to meet the 
needs of the Bahaman people. The population of the island is about 
fifty-five thousand, practically the same in numbers as when Colum- 
bus landed ; but it has been changed in character. * * * There is a 
mixed population, one-eighth white and seven-eights black and mu- 
latto. The mass of the people are in a very primitive condition. They 
are also impoverished by the use of intoxicants. They are not abnor- 
ally lazy or immoral, but they need to be helped to help themselves. 
The people, therefore, who know conditions there have established 
this institute in order to train the people in industry. 

The people of the United States, who are beneficiaries of Colum- 
bus' fortitude and faith, could record their admiration of his heroism 
in no better way than by helping to sustain this educational institution. 

— From "The Outlook/' 



18 



STATEHOOD PROGRAM. 

November Sixteenth. 
SONGS- 

"Oklahoma." — Camden. 

"Wake to the Hunting." — Ransey. 

(Modern Music Series — Third Reader.) 

"Flow Gently Sweet Afton."— Burns, 

(Modern Music Series — Third Reader.) 





I 







M 



THE NEW STAR. 
20 



The New Star. 

(From Sturm s Magazine.) 

Unlike any of her forty- five sisters, Oklahoma has no pioneer 
days. She springs into life like Athena, full-grown and full-facultied. 
She begins without diffidence or apology. She is larger in area than 
Missouri and more populous than California. Her acreage is greater 
than that of all New England, and greater than that of Pennsylvania, 
New Jersey, Delaware and Maryland combined. Her people equal 
almost half of the population of the entire nation at the close of the 
Revolution; they outnumbered those of twenty-three different states, 
and exceed the combined population of eight. 

Most things in the West amaze the Easterner, but Oklahoma 
amazes even the Westerner. Not long ago Chicago was the marvel 
of the world. It boasted, with justifiable pride, of having converted 
a swamp into a metropolis of a million and a half in less than three- 
score years. But Oklahoma has done better — she has converted a 
wilderness into an empire equally great in less than one-third the time. 

— Richard Lloyd Jones. . 



21 



a 



My Native Land. 

Breathes there the man with soul so dead, 
Who never to himself hath said, 

"This is my own, my native land!" 
Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned, 
As home his footsteps he hath turned 

From wandering on a foreign strand? 

If such there breathe, go, mark him well! 
For him no minstrel ruptures sivell. 
High though his titles, proud his name, 
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim — 
Despite those titles, power and pelf, 
The wretch, concentered all in self, 
Living shall forfeit fair renown, 
And, doubly dying, shall go dozen 
To the vile dust from whence he sprung 
Unwept, uuhouored, and unsung. 

— Sir Walter Scott. 



Oklahoma. 

(From Sturm's Magazine.) 

Fair Oklahoma, Queen of states, 
We bid thee zvelcomc to thy place, 
Gifted child of the loving Fates, 
Wher'ere the stars on Old Glory shine, 
Always the brightest will be thine, 
Peerless in beauty, wealth and fame, 
Forever honored be they name. 

Nd land so fair as thy domain, 
Flower decked plains and fields of grain, 
Belted by mountains high and bold, 
A wealth of minerals untold; 
Broad rivers and gay dancing rills, 
Thy cattle on a thousand hills, 
Brecrj.es soft waft the birds bright note, 
To listening cars as they gently float. 



22 



Proud cities lift their stately heads, 
As on they mareJi with steady tread, 
To front ranks in commerce and trade, 
The place that brazen and brain have made. 
So Oklahoma proud and fair. 
Holds her place with dauntless air, 
No peer in all our nation great, 
Has e'er been found for our queenly state. 
— Mrs. George W. Holmes. 



My Oklahoma Girl. 

Her eyes are bright and sparkling, 
As she greets you in the way, 

And the atmosphere around her 

Makes one dream of flowers and May. 

A ruddy healthy vigor, 

And a brow of polished pearl, 

Make up the simple portrait, 
Of the Oklahoma girl. 

She's a mighty institution, 

This new star of the west, 
With a wealth of independence 

Within her maiden breast, 
That makes her fond admirers 

The banner high unfurl, 
Of love and admiration, 

For the Oklahoma girl. 

Her dad's an 'Sqcr, 

And one day long ago, 
With him she crossed the border, 

Into lands they did not know; 
And with him she braved the dangers, 

Which nature sought to hurl, 
And it added grace and beauty, 

To the Oklahoma girl. 



23 



To the Oklahoma girl. 

She's lived in shacks and dug-outs, 

But that was years gone by, 
Now a modern roomy cottage 

Lifts its gables to the sky; 
Within all neat and handy, 

And as cozy as a squirrel. 
And upon her throne of labor 

Sits the Oklahoma girl. 

She's worked her way through college, 

She's a skilful athlete, 
And when it comes to winsome ways 

She simply can't be beat. 
She's the rose-bud of the prairie, 

She's the center of the whirl, 
And we doff our hats in honor 

Of the Oklahoma girl. 

— Frank M. Colville. 



Indian Trails. 

Down from the Apalachian mountains to the forests of Georgia 
and the Carolinas and thence to the western uplift of the Ozarks was 
the old Cherokee trail, ending at Tahlequah. From the south land, 
as the legends recite, the trails of the Choctaws, Chickasaws, Creeks 
and Seminoles lead to their olden home of the ancient Muskogee's, 
and thence diverging, the four trails each ended at a council house 
which in time became the center and finally the capitol of an Indian 
nation. These four, together with the Cherokee nation, are known as 
the Five Civilized Tribes, and the insignia of each is preserved in 
the points of the Star that forms the contour of the seal of our state. 

From their earlier home in western Missouri and eastern Kansas, 
the trail of the Osages leads to that county which bears their tribal 
name, ending at Pawhuska. The Pawnee trail coming from the west- 
ern plains, ended at the confluence of the Cimarron and Arkansas 
rivers, and gave name to the county there formed. 

The fading trails of Kickapoos, Shawnees, Tonkawas and rem- 
nants of many tribes were lost among the settlements of other Indians, 
while the red trails of the Cheyennes, Arapahoes, Comanches and 
Apaches are forever lost among the happy homes of our state. 

24 



Where once were the lonely Indian trails are now the thorough- 
fares of our commonwealth; where once stood villages of primitive 
wigwams now stand growing cities ; where once the war cry sounded 
now is heard the shriek of locomotives ; where once rose the smoke 
of council fires now ascends the black breath of factories. The Indian 
trails that once lead through this state have become the paths of 
civilization — the new civilization of red men and white in the land 
of Oklahoma. 

5. M. Barrett. 



Let's Hike Fer Oklahomy, Bill. 

(From Sturm's Magazine.) 

Let's draw our money from the bank 

And quit old Kansas soil 
And pull for Oklahomy, Bill, 
The land of honest toil; 
There we can live on milk and fat, 

Contented as can be, 
And keep our cash safe in the bank, 

Backed by state guarantee. 

I 'member back in wild-cat days, 

That many a man wuz stripped, 
By tradin off his com an hogs, 

For worse than worthless script; 
But down in Oklahomy, Bill; 

Them times they'll never see, 
Cause every bank is backed up by 

A safe state guarantee. 

I always thought that them there chaps, 

What settled that there land, 
An' builded Oklahomy state, 

Wuz chock plum full of sand; 
An' since they've made that bankiii law, 

I think, Bill, you'll agree, 
That Oklahomy has a trump, 

In that there guarantee. 



They tell me socks from ole Mis sou, 

That's been hid out for years, 
Is bein' shipped to new state banks, 

Where folks don't have no fears 
About them banks a bustin', Bill, 
But all sleep peacefully 
A knowin' that their money's safe, 

With that state guarantee. 

From Kansas, Texas, Arkansas, 

The cash is pourin' in, 
An' bankers in the neighbor states 

Are cussiii just like sin; 
It hurts to sec the money go 

To Oklahomy, See? 
An so they're all a shout in ' , 

For their own state guarantee. 

So let's get our stuff into cash 

And quit ole Kansas plains 
And hike for Oklahomy, Bill, 

The home of pluck and brains; 
There we can live a fceliii like, 
We wuzrit up a tree 
The way we feel in Kansas now, 

Without that guarantee. 

— By Frank M. Colville. 

Question— In Melon Time, 

(From Sturm's Magazine.) 

Say, stranger, ever been to Tennessee 
When bird songs fill the air with melody 

In melon time? 
The vines ahangin' thick with fruit so fine, 
Their meat as sweet and mellow as old zvine 

At Nczv Year's time? 

You see the melons sparklin' in the dew 
And seemin', sir, to jes' smile up at you 

In melon time. 
You lax one in the spring all through the day, 
And goin' home, you Jmppen that 'a way 

At supper time. 

26 



The water-melon's awful red and sweet, 
I tell you what, it's mighty hard to beat 

At any time. 
If you would live as happy as can be 
Then, sir, you jes' come on to Tennessee 

In melon time. 

— A. Maria Crawford. 



Reply— In Melon Time. 

{From Sturm's Magazine.) 
Old fellow, yes, I've been to Tennessee 
When bird songs fill the air with melody 

In melon time, 
But vines don't* bear the fruit in any land 
That ours do here in Oklahoma sand 

In melon time. 

We have the melons sparklin' in the dew 
And seemin' , sir, to jes' set up to you 

In melon time; 
And then we cool ours, too, all through the day 
And goin' home, we happen round that zvay 

At supper time. 

Here water-melons grow so red and sweet 
I tell you what, you'll find 'em hard to beat 

In any clime, 
And if you doubt, old son of Tennessee, 
Then come to Oklahoma, sir, and see 

In melon time. 

ftlTirriLF.! ii: 

— A. Maria Crawford. 



27 



Extracts From a Speech by "Bill Kantfraid", on 
the Subject of Statehood. 

Well, so it is we got it statehoods these white mans he call it. 
Don't know if it is understood all I know 'bout it this here statehoods. 
I know Bill Skalook he's close my neighborhood, an' he say so that 
school teacher my chilluns he got it childhood — don't know where he 
got it; though, 'cause we comb it head ever' day, them chilluns an' 
we can't find it childhoods, so what it is this statehoods. 

Arch Youthfulswine he come my house day t'other side yistiddy 
night an' I'm axin' him 'bout it this here statehoods an' he say : "Way 
long time 'go that Uncle Sam he sp'il it up Injun co't, Injun law, 
Injun Council and ever thin' an he say for Injun divide it up land — 
sectionize it an' make it home ever' feller for he'self. Then he build it 
big one co't, that Uncle Sam, an' he rule it Injun with Co't, an' 
marshal with big six-pistol-forty-some-odd he callit — an' he say, that 
Co't to Injun he gotter take it gyardeen all his chilluns 'fore he git it 
land. Well, we don't like it that kin', so it is we tell 'em, that Co't, 
we won't take it gyardeen our own chilluns, and' say we my daddy our 
own chilluns. We tell 'em cow can know he's own chilluns an take a 
care of it; wolf knows he's own chilluns an can take care of it; birds, 
varmints, bosses, catties, white mans, an' nigger mans can all be my 
dady he's own chilluns, but Injun seem lak t'aint got it sense mough 
to be my daddy he's own chilluns. So it is 'bout this time he come 
'long that politic fight what he call it statehoods, them fellers. Well, 
we gittin' offle tired bein' bully-ragged by these white mans what 
call theyselves "The Co't," so it is when we come to 'lect it Constitu- 
tion an' vote it statehoods we all vote it an' fix it so it is we can make 
it our own law, our own council an' our own Co't." 

"Well, that listens pooty good. Then I'm think 'bout it "Old 
Nation" an' how it is white mans he all time tell Injun "git further." 
Pooty soon he want some more Injun land 'gin an' he tell 'em Injun 
"git further." Injun all time git further an' git further, till he can 
no more git further — all gone Injun land, an' pooty soon all gone 
Injun, too. 

Xo more he chase it buffalo an' mild eyed antelope over prairies 
made melodious by it hum of wild bee an' freighted with sweet odors 
of it flowers of Spring; no more he chase it deer through vine-tangled 
forest, through deep, dank marshes an' 'cross it green morass ; no 
more will war-whoop be heard on it lonely, wooded hills or 'long 
limpid streams smilin' through it veils of perennial green; no more 

28 



will arrow spring from the bow, an' no more will council fires be 
kindled where it is mighty mans gather to make it laws ; but he seem 
like he stan' it solitary an' lone' on some jagged cliff with it face an' 
eyes turned toward it settin' of sun, among the last of it a proud, 
ancient liver by lovin' peoples, with pang in it heart and tear in it eye, 
lookin' way 'cross in it dim distance to it purple hills where it is lost 
to it forever huntin' grounds. So it is he fights it out he's battle 'lone, 
an' he makes it up mind best thing give it up Injun way and take it 
up white man way. So it is we look 'gin and we see it risin' a bright 
beautiful star what shines like pretty one gal standin' on rainbow, the 
light of it face wakes it up all the birds an' makes it seem like dia- 
monds, jist millions of it, hangin' from blade of grass, nestlin' in heart 
of it rose an' dancin' on quiverin' leaf of giant oak, whose jeweled 
ban' seem like all time axin' us to come on. The bright star what 
you seen it is the forty-sixth in the constellation of states an' we call 
it — Uglyhoma. 

Bill Kant f raid. 



29 



THANKSGIVING PROGRAM. 

November Thirtieth. 
SONGS- 

"The First Thanksgiving Day." 

(From "Songs of the Chid World" No. 2— By Riley & Gaynor) 

"Why My Gobler Changed His Tune." 

(From "Songs of the Child World" No. 2.) 

"God Bless Our Native Land." 

By Dwight. (Any Hymnal.) 




THANKSGIVING. 



32 



The Old New England Thanksgiving. 

The king and high priest of all festivals was the autumn Thanks- 
giving. When the apples were all gathered and the cider was all 
made, and the yellow pumpkins were rolled in from many a hill in 
billows of gold, and the corn was husked, and the labors of the season 
were done, and the warm, late days of Indian Summer came in, dreamy 
and calm and still, with just enough frost to crisp the ground of a 
morning, but with warm traces of benignant sunny hours at noon, 
there came over the community a sort of genial repose of spirit — a 
sense of something accomplished, and of a new golden mark made in 
advance — and the deacon began to say to the minister, of a Sunday, 
"I suppose it's about time for the Thanksgiving proclamation." 

• — Harriet Beecher Stowe. 



33 



Give Thanks for What? 

"Let Earth give thanks/' the deacon said, 
And then the proclamation read. 
"Give thanks fer what, an' what about?" 
Asked Simon Soggs when church was out. 
"Give thanks fer wJtat? I don't see why; 
The rust got in an spiled my rye, 
And hay wasn't half a crop and corn 
All wilted down and looked forlorn 
The bugs jest gobbled my pertaters 
— The what-you-call-em lineaters — 
And gracious! when you come to wheat, 
There's more than all the world can eat; 
Onless a zvar should interfere, 
Crops wont bring half a price this year; 
We'll hev to give 'em away, I reckon!" 

"Good for the poor!" exclaimed the deacon. 

"Give thanks fer what?" asked Simon Soggs, 
"Fer the freshet carryin' off my logs? 
Fer Dobbin goin blind? Fer five 
Uv my best cows, that was alive 
afore the smashin' railroad come 
And made it awful troublesome? 
Fer that Jiaystack the lightnin' struck 
And burnt to ashes? — thund'rin' luck! 
Fer ten dead sheep?" sighed Simon Soggs. 

The deacon said, "You've got your hogs!" 

"Give thanks? And Jane and baby sick? 
I almost wonder if ole Nick 
Ain't runnin things!" 

The deacon said, 
"Simon! ycr people might be dead!" 



34 



"Give thanks?" said Simon Soggs again, 

"Jest look at what a fix we're in! 

The country's rushin' to the dogs 

At race-horse speed!" said Simon Soggs, 

"Rotten all through — in every state, — 

Why, ef we don't repudiate 

We'll hev to build, fer big and small, 

A poor-house that'll hold us all. 

All round, the crooked whiskey still 

Is runnin' like the devil's mill; 

Give thanks? How mad it makes me feel, 

To think how office-holders steal! 

The taxes paid by you and me 

Is four times bigger' n they should be; 

The Fed'ral Goifment's all askew, 

The ballot's sech a mockery, too ! 

Some votes too little, some too much, 

Some not at all — it beats the Dutch! 

And now no man knows what to do, 

Or how is how, or who is who. 

Deacon! corruption's sure to kill! 

This 'glorious Union' never will, 

I'll bet a continental cent, 

Elect another President! 

Give thanks fer what, I'd like to know?" 

The deacon answered, sad and low, 
"Simon! it fills me with surprise, 
You don't see whar yer duty lies; 
Xneel right straight down, in all the muss 
ind thank God that it ain't no wuss!" 

— Selected. 

Thanksgiving Day 

Song. 
My turkey 'tis of thee, 
Sweet bird of cranberry, 
Of thee I sing. 
I love thy breast and wings, 
Back legs and other things; 
I love thy good stuffings, 
O luscious bird. 

— From Ladies Home Journal 



35 



A Crank's Thanksgiving 

Like others, I'm grateful for plenty to eat ; I'm fond of a plateful 
of rich turkey meat. For pies in the cupboard and coal in the bin ; 
for tires that are rubbered and motors that spin ; for all of my treas- 
ures, for all that I earn, for comforts and pleasures, my thanks I return. 
I'm glad that the nation is greasy and rich, acquiring high station with 
nary a hitch ; her barns are a-bursting with mountains of grain, her 
people are thirsting for glory and gain. She'll ne'er backward linger, 
this land of our dads, for she is a dinger at nailnig the scads. I'm 
glad that our vessels bring cargoes across, while counting-rooms 
wrestle with profit and loss ; that men know the beauties of figures 
and dates and tariffs and duties and railway rebates. 

I'm glad there are dreamers not industry-drunk, surrounded by 
schemers whose god is the plunk. I'm glad we've remaining in- 
competent jays not always a-straining, in four hundred ways, to run 
down and collar one big rouble more to add to the dollar they nailed 
just before. I'm glad there are writers more proud of their creeds 
than board of trade fighters of options and deeds. I'm glad there are 
preachers who tell of a shore, where wealth-weary people need scheme 
never more. 

For books that were written by masters of thought; for harps 
that were smitten with Homeric swat ; for canvases painted by mon- 
archs of art ; for all things untainted by tricks of the mart ; for hearts 
that are kindly, with virtue and peace, and not seeking blindly a hoard 
to increase ; for those who are grieving o'er life's sordid plan, for souls 
still believing in heaven and man ; for homes that are lowly, with 
love at the board ; for things that are holy, I thank thee, O Lord ! 

— From The Outlook. 

A Thanksgiving Fable. 

It was a hungry pussy cat, upon Thanksgiving morn, 
And she watched a thankful little mouse, that ate an ear of corn. 
"If I ate that thankful little mouse, how thankful he should be, 
When he has made a meal himself, to make a meal for me! 
"Then with his thanks for having fed, and his thanks for feeding me, 
With all his thankfulness inside, how thankful I shall be!" 
Thus mused the hungry pussy cat, upon Thanksgiving Day; 
But the little mouse had overheard and declined (with thanks) to stay. 

— Oliver Herford. 

36 



Thoughts Fer the Discouraged Farmer. 

The summer wind is sniff in' 'round the bloomin locus trees, 
And the clover in the pastur is a big day fer the bees; 
And they been a-swiggin honey, above board an on the sly, 
Tel they stutter in theyr buzzin and stagger as they fly. 
The flicker on the fence-rail 'pears to jest spit on his zvings 
And roll up his feathers, by the sassy zvay he sings; 
And the hoss-fly is a-whettin-up his forelegs fer biz, 
And the off-mare is a-szvitchin all of her tale they is. 

You can hear the blackbirds jo-win' as they f oiler up the plow — 
Oh, theyr bound to git theyr brekfast, and theyr not a-carin' how; 
So they quarrel in the furries, and they quarrel on the wing — 
But theyr peaceabler in the pot-pies than any other thing; 
And it's zvhen I git my shot-gun drazved up in stiddy rest, 
She's as full of tribbclation as a y eller- jacket' s nest; 
And a few shots before dinner, when the sun's a-shinin' bright, 
Seems to kindo-sorto sharpen up a feller's appetite! 

They's been a heap o' rain, but the sun's out today, 

And the clouds of the wet spell is all cleared azvay, 

And the woods is all the greener, and the grass is greener still; 

It may rain again tomorry, but I don't think it will. 

Some says the crops is ruined, and the corn's drownded out, 

And propha-sy the wheat will be a failure, without doubt; 

But the kind Providence that has never failed us yet, 

Will be on hands onct more at the 'leventh hour, I bet! 

Does the medder-lark complane, as he swims high and dry 
Through the waves of the wind and the blue of the sky? 
Does the quail set up and whissel in a disapinted way, 
Er hang his head in silunce, and sorrow all the day? 
Is the chipmunk's health a-failin? Does he walk er does he run? 
Don't the buzzards ooze around up thare jest like they've alius done? 
Is they anything the matter zvith the rooster's lungs er voice — 
Ort a mortal be complainin' zvhen dumb animals rejoice? 

Then, let us, one and all, be contented zvith our lot; 
The lune is here this morning, and the sun is shining hot. 
Oh! let us fill our hearts up with the glory of the day, 
And banish evry doubt and care and sorrow fur azvay! 
Whatever be our station, with Providence fer guide, 
Sich fine circumstances ort to make us satisfied; 
Fer the world is full of roses, and the roses full of dew, 
And the dew is full of heavenly love that drips fer me and you. 

— lames Whitcomb Riley. 

37 



Thanksgiving 

Dear Lord, on this day, thy day of days, 

Forgive me, if to thee, 
In place of songs replete with praise, 
This prayer alone my heart essays, 

"Work thou thy will in me" 

I cannot thank thee for the pain 

With which I wait to hear 
Familiar footsteps, or again 
Listen for songs whose blithe refrain 

Made glad our hearts last year. 

I cannot praise. Beneath thy cross 

I bow, and silently, 
With eyes washed clear of much of dross, 
I strive to see, above my loss, 

The joy of those with thee. 

De Thanksgivin' Blessin'. 

Set down, Lindy! Whar's yo' mannahsf 

Ain't you got no raisin' ' , chile? 
Don't be re' chin 'crost dc table! 'Possum sets yon chill'n wil' 1 
Don't you know dis hcah's Thanksgivin? 

We's a-gzvincter have a pra'r 
'Fo' we teches dem dar 'possums er dem tatcrs — git back dart 
Now, ole 'oman, keep desc chill'n wid dey'r holds all bowed dozvn low 
Whilst I of fahs up de blessin fer dc fambly. Han's dozvn, So! 

"Lazvd, we don't know how to m'asure whut You docs up darn de sky, 

But we knows in all Yo' givin' dot You nevah pass us by; 

And zee's grateful fer dc good things You continues to dispense 

From dc cawn-crib and dc smoke-house uv Yo 1 lovin pruvidence. 

Thank de Lazvd fer all His blessin' s, spcci'Uy dem dat He ordains 

Fer de niggah's faithful stummick and dc honger hit contains; — 

Scch ez red-meat water -millions, storm' up de natal juice 

Uv de summer -time s bes honey fer dc hones' niggah's use. 

And we thanks You, Lazvd, fer roas'n ycahs and fer de yaller yam, 

Fer de cazvn-cake in dc ashes and the ham-bone in de ham; 

We remembahs You mos' kindly fer de bacon and de beans, 

And fer good pot-lickcr cxtry wid dc jowl and turnip greens. 

38 



And dey hain't no mawtal music to us niggahs heah below 
Like de gobblin' uv de gobblah and de rooster's lawdly crow. 
Fer dese blessin's and all othahs we is grateful, Lawd, always; 
But we lif's de chune up higher in de dear ole 'possum's praise; 
Ca'se we shouts in halleluiahs fer de makin' uv dis beas' 
Ez de cov'nant wid de niggah in dis heah Thanksgivin' feas'!" 

Link! Whut make yo' mouf so greasy ? 
M' randy I Whut you munchin on? 
Stop, you sackerleegious varmint! Whar's dat bigges' tater gone? 
Drap it back dar, Lizy! Heah me! Dis heah ain't no eatin' race! 
Nozv, ole 'oman, min dese chill' n whilst I finish sayin' grace! 

"Lazvd, dey tells me dat de 'possum am de oldest critter yit, 
And we knows dat You's perzerved him for de niggah' s benefit! 
And zve thanks You, Lawd, fer deze two, ca'se dey wuz so fat and hale 
From de zvhiskers on deyr nostrils to the col' and naked tail! 
Ca'se de' 'possum's good all over, from dat tantelizin grin 
To de marrer-bones and chittlin's and de gravy in the skin! 
Den we thanks de Lazvd fer givin' niggahs edjicated tas'e, 
So's 'at dey kin eat de 'possum 'd out a single drap uv was'e' 
Angels, look dozvn on dis picture! 

Chill' n waitin' fer a piece 
Ever little mouf a-drippin zvid Thanksgivin' at de feas' ! 
And de parents bofe a-praisin' Him from whom all blessin's folw, — 
Him dat keeps the black es niggah same ez dem dat's white ez snow! 
Lawd, zve honors de traditions uv de niggah to de en' ; 
Bless us zvhilst we taken de creases out'n our stummicks nozv. Amen!" 

Lazvdy, mussy! ...Whar's dem 'possums? 

And dem taters — dey's gone, too! 
And de gravy done sopped out'n bofe de platters clean ez nezv! 
Link! M 'randy! Zeke! Ole 'oman! Ef de las' one ain't cut out! 
May dyspepsy ha'nt dey'r stummicks and dey'r feet swell up with gout! 
Me a-prayin' and a-praisin' to de Lazvd dat nevah fail, 
Dey a-stealin' at de alter, leavin' nothin' but de tail! 
Leavin' misery in my inards, and de in'ards moanin' on 
Ca'se I didn't ax de blessin 'fo' I blowed de dinnah ho'n! 

— H. L. Finer, in The Century. 



39 



CHRISTMAS PROGRAM. 

December Twenty-Second. 

SONGS— 

"Cradle Hymn."-By Rousseau. 

(From Common School Book of Vocal Music— By Silver, Burdett & Co.) 

Christmas Carol "Once Unto the Shepherds" — 

iPVom Gaynor's Book No. 1) 

"Silent Ni^ht, Holy Ni£ht."-by Paden. 

(From Favorite Songs and Hymns. — American Book Co.) 




— FromStium's Magazine 



The Snow-Flake. 

/ stood beside my window watching the storm 
Without, a shelf ring swirling maze of white. 
In sportiveness I'd choose some airy form 
And trace its dozvnward way, a pretty sight 
I thought it, this, flitting snozv-f lakes' game. 
4 little flake, as though he tired of play, 
1-drifting slozuly, into my window came ; 
Fresh, fair, pure, perfect on the ledge it lay. 
"Ah soul," I mused aloud, "so oft to thee 

Come in at thy zvindozu nor at thy call — 

Good thoughts from heaven's air, from taint as free 
As this flake. Against zvarm life they fall 

And vanish vanish e'en against thy will, 

As doth this flake upon my window sill." 

— Lynn W. Land rum. 
Altus, Okla. 



43 



Christmas. 

.::*** Christmas is not only the mile-mark of another year, 
moving us to thoughts of self-examination, — it is a season, from all 
its associations, whether domestic or religious, suggesting thoughts of 
joy. A man dissatisfied with his endeavors is a man tempted to sad- 
ness. And in the midst of winter, when his life runs lowest and he is 
reminded of the empty chairs of his beloved, it is well that he should 
be condemned to this fashion of the smiling face. 

— Robert Louis Stevenson. 



Under the Holly Bough. 

Ye who have scorned each other, 
Or injured friend or brother, 

In the fast-fading year; 
Ye who, by word or deed, 
Have made a kind heart bleed, 

Come gather here! 
Let sinned against and sinning 
Forget their strife's beginning, 

And join in friendship now. 
Be links no longer broken, 
Be sweet forgiveness spoken 

Under the holly bough. 

— Charles Mackay. 



The Spirit of Christmas. 

c< * * * -g ut don't y OU see j-hat there is a Santa Claus? He 
isn't a man in a fur coat — and a reindeer sleigh and all that — but he 
is the spirit of Christmas, isn't he? They've personified that, and 
made a saint of him, and invented legends about him for the children, 
but when we're no longer children, and don't believe in him we still 
have that Christmas spirit — and it's that that gives presents and makes 
us feel kindly toward one another, and makes Christams what it is." , 

— Harvey F. O. Hi g gins. 
44 



To Santa Glaus. 

Most tangible of all the gods that be, 

O Santa Clans — our own since Infancy I 

As first we scampered to thee — now, as then, — 

Take us as children to thy heart again. 

Be wholly good to us, just as of old; 
As a pleased father, let thine arms infold 
Us, homed within the haven of thy love, 
And all the cheer and wholesomeness thereof. 

Thou lone reality, whom so long 
Life's unrealities have zvr ought us wrong; 
Ambition hath allured us, — fame likewise, 
And all that promised honor in men's eyes. 

Throughout the world's evasions, wiles, and shifts, 
Thou only bidest stable as thy gifts; — 
A grateful king re-ruleth from thy lap, 
Crowned with a little tinselled soldier-cap. 

A mighty general — a nation's pride — 
Thou givest again a rocking-horse to ride, 
And wildly glad he growth as the grim 
Old jurist with the drum thou givest him. 

The sculptor's chisel, at thy mirth's command, 

Is as a whistle in his boyish hand; 

The painter's model fadeth utterly, 

And there thou standest, — and he painteth thee: — 

Most like a winter pippin, sound and fine 
And tingling-red that ripe old face of thine, 
Set in thy frosty beard of cheek and chin 
As 'midst the snows the thaws of spring set in. 

Ho ! Santa Claus — our own since Infancy — 
Most tangible of all the goods that be! — 
As first we scampered to thee — now, as then, 
Take us as children to thy heart again. 

— lames Whit comb Riley. 
45 



Bringing in the Yule Log. 

The burning of the Yule log is an ancient Christmas ceremony 
handed down from the Scandinavians, who, at their feast of lull, at 
the time of the winter solstice, used to kindle huge bonfires i*» honor 
of their god, Thor. 



The bringing in and placing of the ponderou. jlock (frequently 
the rugged and grotesquely marked root of an oak) on the hearth of 
the wide chimney in the baronial hall was the most joyous of the cere- 
monies observed on Christmas Eve. It was drawn in triumph from its 
resting-place amid shouts and laughter, every wayfarer doffing his 
hat as it passed, for he well knew that it was full of good promises, 
and that its flame would burn out old wrongs and heart-burnings. 

On its entrance into the baronial hall, the minstrels hailed it with 
song and music, or, in the absence of the minstrels, we are told that 
each member of the family sat upon it in turn, sang a Yule song, and 
drank to a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year; after which 
they had as part of their feast, Yule dough, or Yule cakes, on which 
were impressed the figures of the infant Jesus. 



As an accompaniment to the Yule log, a candle of monstrous 
size, called the Yule candle, or Christmas candle, shed its light on the 
festive board during the evening. 

— From "Christmas Tyde." 



Christmas Afterthought. 

After a thoughtful, almost painful pause, 
Bub sighed, "I'm sorry fer old Santy Claus: — 
They wuz no Santy Claus, ner couldn't be, 
When he wuz ist a little boy like met" 

— James Whitcomb Riley. 

4 6 



"Quite Like a Stocking." 

Just as the moon was fading 

Amid her misty rings 
And every stocking was stuffed 

With childhood's precious things, 
Old Kris Kringle looked around, 

And saw, on an elm-tree bough, 
High hung, an oriole's nest — 

Lonely and empty now. 

"Quite a stocking," he laughed, 

"Hung up there on a tree I 
I didn't suppose the birds 

Expected a present from me." 
The old Kris Kringle, who loves 

A joke as well as the best, 
Dropped a handful of snowflakes 

Into the oriole's empty nest. 

— Thomas Bailey Aldrich 



A Christmas Carol. 

"A merry Christmas, Uncle! God save you!" cried a cheerful 
voice. It was the voice of Scrooge's nephew, who came upon him so 
quickly that this was the first intimation he had of his approach. 

"Bah !" said Scrooge. "Humbug f 

He had so heated himself with rapid walking in the fog and 
frost, this nephew of Scrooge's, that he was all in a glow ; his face was 
ruddy and handsome, his eyes sparkled, and his breath smoked again. 

"Christmas a humbug, Uncle !" said Scrooge's nephew. "You 
don't mean that, I am sure ?" 

"I do," said Scrooge. "Merry Christmas ! What right have you 
to be merry ? Out upon Merry Christmas ! What's Christmas time to 
you but a time for paying bills without money ; a time for finding your- 
self a year older, and not an hour richer; a time for balancing your 
books and having every item in 'em through a round dozen of months 
presented dead against you? If I could work my will," said Scrooge, 
indignantly, "every idiot who goes about with 'Merry Christmas' on 

47 



his lips should be boiled with his own pudding, and buried with a 
stake of holly run through his heart. He should!" 

"Uncle !" pleaded the nephew. 

"Nephew !" returned the uncle sternly, "keep Christmas in your 
own way, and let me keep it in mine." 

"Keep it I" repeated Scrooge's nephew, "But you don't keep it." 

"Let me leave it alone, then," said Scrooge. "Much good may 
it do you! Much good it has ever done you !" 

"There are many things from which I might have derived good, 
by which I have not profited, I dare say," returned the nephew. 
"Christmas among the rest. But I am sure I have always thought of 
Christmas time, when it has come round — apart from the veneration 
due to its sacred name and origin, if any thing belonging to it can be 
apart from that — as a good time ; a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleas- 
ant time ; the only time I know of, in the long calendar of the year, 
when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts 
freely, and to think of people below them as if they really were felllow- 
passengers to the grave, and not another race of creatures bound on 
other journeys. And therefore, Uncle, though it has never put a scrap 
of gold or silver in my pocket, I believe that it has done me good, 
and will do me good ; and I say, Godbless it !" 

— From Dickens' Christmas Carol. 



Crowded Out. 

(From the Book of Christinas.) 
Nobody ain't Christmas shoppin' 

Fur his stockin' , 
Nobody ain't cotch no turkey, 
Nobody ain't bake no pie. 
Nobody's laid nuthin' by; 
Santa Claus don't cut no figger 
Fur his mammy's little nigger. 

Seems lak everybody's rushin! 
An' er crushin' ; 

Crowdin' shops an' jammin' trolleys, 
Buyin' shoes an' shirts an' toys 
Fur de white folks' girls an' boys; 
But no hobby-horse ain't roc kin' 
Fur his little wore-out stockin. 



48 



He ain't quar'lin, recollec', 

He don't 'spec' 

Nuthiri — it's his not expectin' 

Makes his mammy wish—O Laws! — 

Fur er nigger Santy Claus, 

Totin' jus er toy balloon 

Fur his mammy's little coon. 

— Rosalie M. Jonas. 



Ghris'mus Is A-Comin\ 

(From Poems of Cabin and Field. Dodd, Mead and Co.) 
Bones a-gittin' achy, 
Back a-f elfin' col', 
Han's a-growin' shaky, 
Jes lak I was ol'. 
Fros' erpon de mcddah 
Lookin' mighty white ; 
Snowdraps lak a fcddah 
Slip pin down at night. 
Jes' keep t'ings a-humimn' 
Spite o fros an shozvahs, 
Chris mus is a-comin' 
An' all de week is ouahs. 

Little mas' a-axin' 
"Who is Santy Claus f" 
Meks it kin' o taxin' 
Not to brek de laws. 
Chillun's pow'ful tryin' 
To a pusson's grace 
Wen dey go a-pryin' 
Right on th'oo you' face 
Down ermong yo' feelin's; 
Jes' 'pears lak dat you 
Got to change you' dealin's 
So's to tell 'em true. 

An' my pickaninny — 
Dreamin' in his sleep! 
Come hyeah, Mammy Jinny, 
Come an' tek a peep. 

49 



01' Mas' Bob an Missis 
In dey house up daih 
Got no chile lak dis is, 
D' ain't none anywhaih. 
Sleep, my little lammy, 
Sleep, you little lamb, 
He do' know whut mammy 
Done saved up fu him. 

Dey'll be banjo pic kin 9 1 
Dancin all night th'oo. 
Dey'll be lots o' chicken, 
Plenty tu'ky, too. 
Drams to wet yo' whistles 
So's to drive out chills. 
Whut I keer t'ings a-hummin 
Spite o' col' an' showahs, 
Chris' mus day's a-comin', 
An' dc week is oualis. 

— Paul Laurence Dunbar. 



50 



LEE PROGRAM 

January Nineteenth. 



SONGS 



"Hail Columbia, Happy Land." 

"America." 



President and General. 



(Stories from American History., Chas. E. Merrill Co.) 

Now came the spring of 1861. With it came war, war between 
the states. The states of North and South had been quarreling for many 
years. They differed as to the taxes they should pay and the way 
the country should be ruled. They differed as to whether people 
should have slaves or not. Hot-headed people on both sides said bitter 
things. The more they quarreled, the angrier they became. 

Lincoln said the Southern states should be made to stay in the 
Union. So he called for seventy-five thousand soldiers to send against 
them. He needed a good general to put at the head of the army. Who 
should it be? General Scott, who had led the army in Mexico, was 
too old. Scott said, ''Robert Lee is the best soldier I ever saw in the 
field. He will show himself the foremost captain of his time. Make him 
chief of the army. He will be worth fifty thousand men to you." 

So President Lincoln sent and asked Lee to take charge of his 
army. Lee said no. He loved the army and he loved the Union. "If 
four million slaves in the South were mine," he said, "I would give 
them all up to keep the Union." But Virginia was his mother state. 
He could not fight against her. "I must go with Virginia," he said. 

He gave up his place in the United States army and took com 
mand of the Virginia troops. 



53 



Lee 

A passion of conflict — Country or State! 
Allegiance or loyalty! — which clearer the calif 
Man of the nation, a name blazoned high 

On escutcheons of glory — 
Should lie part with the past in which they — his people — 

Had writ deep and fast, — lee. 

Harsh, bitter, and cruel the struggle. 

Then — white and undiiunied 

The alter of Duty shone out of the dusk. 

And Love burned away all dreaming of dross. 

But he knew not, when yielding one sworn for another, 

He had carved on the heart of his country forever. — lee. 

— Kate Langley Bosher. 
(From the Outlook.) 



Robert E. Lee. 



A gallant focman in the fight, 

A brother when the fight was o'er, 

The hand that led the host with might, 
The blessed torch of learning bore. 

Xo shriek of shells nor roll of drums, 

Xo challenge fierce, resounding far, 

When reconciling Wisdom comes 

To heal the cruel wounds of war. 

Thought may the minds of men divide, 
Love makes the heart of nations one, 

And so, thy soldier grave beside 
We honor thee, J'irginia's son. 

— Julia Ward Hozve. 



The Sword of Robert Lee. 

Forth from its scabbard pure and bright, 

Flashed the szvord of Lee! 
Far in the front of the deadly fight, 
High o'er the brave in the cause of Right, 
Its stainless sheen, like a beacon light, 
Led us to Victory. 

Out of its scabbard, where, full long, 

It slumbered peacefully, 
Roused from its rest by the battle's song, 
Shielding the feeble, smiting the strong, 
Guarding the right, avenging the wrong, 
Gleamed the sword of Lee. 

Forth from its scabbard, high in air 

Beneath Virginia' s-sky — 
And they who saw it gleaming there, 
And knezv who bore it, knelt to szvear 
That where the szvord led they zvould dare 
To follozv — and to die. 

Out of its scabbard! Never hand 

Waved szvord from stain as free, 
Nor purer szvord led braver band, 
Nor braver bled for a brighter land, 
Nor brighter land had a cause so grand, 
Nor cause a chief like Lee! 

Forth from its scabbard! Hozv zve prayed 

That szvord might victor be ; 
And when our triumph zvas delayed 
And many a heart grczv sore afraid, 
We still hoped on zvhile gleamed the blade 
Of noble Robert Lee. 

Forth from its scabbard all in vain 

Bright flashed the szvord of Lee; 

'Tis shrouded nozv in its sheath again. 

It sleeps the sleep of our noble slain. 

Defeated, yet without a stain. 

Proudly and peacefully. 

— Father Ryan. 

55 



His Love for His Old Gray Horse. 

First Pupil. 

Men and officers who have together faced death, who have 
shared victory or bitter defeat, are bound by no slight bonds. Wher- 
ever the gray horse went, bearing General Lee, a shout went up. Or 
when those of another section heard wild cheering, but could not see 
either horse or rider, there, too, affection kindled, and a smile went 
over the war-grimed faces : 

"There goes Marse Robert on old 'Traveler'!" they said, with 
renewed courage. 

Second Pupil. 

The campaign of '64, which commenced at Orange, led the brave 
horse through the fearful fire of the Wilderness, Spottsylvania, Cold 
Harbor, Petersburg. The fortunes of war were utterly changing 
now. The master whom he had carried through many victories he 
bore now through much defeat. Along the lines of defense from the 
Chickahominy, north of Richmond, to Hatcher's Run, south of the 
Appomatox, "Traveler" was to be seen daily. Heavy odds were closing 
in. The war was nearing its end. The stricken South could hold her 
own but little longer. One day the last stand was taken ; the last strug- 
gle made ; the last smoke of battle cleared away. 

Third Pupil. 

The story of Lee's surrender at Appomattox need not be retold. 
If "Traveler" himself could have told it we should hear most, no doubt, 
of the few brief words of farewell which his master spoke to his tat- 
tered soldiers ; and of how the ragged men crowded, sobbing to touch 
their General's hand, or his uniform, or just to lay hands on good old 
"Traveler." 

Fourth Pupil. 

From Appomattox "Traveler" carried his beloved master, now a 
prisoner of war on parole, to Richmond. As the well-known horse 
and rider came unexpectedly through the streets, Southern citizens and 
Northern soldiers, recognizing them, raised their hats in silent respect 
or emotion as the two passed by. At East Franklin street, where 
General Lee dismounted and made his way to his waiting family, 
sympathizing crowds gathered around the gray horse who had car- 
ried him so well and so long, and some put their arms about "Trav- 
eler's" neck and sobbed there and kissed him. 

56 



Fifth Pupil. 

After the war, when General Lee took up his duties at Lexing- 
ton, "Traveler" was still his master's beloved friend and companion. 
When work for the day was finished "Traveler" would be brought 
from the stable and his master would ride in paths now of memory 
and quietness. Or in the summer "Traveler" sometimes carried Gen- 
eral Lee to the mountains of the White Sulphur in Greenbrier. There 
the gray horse saw once more his old haunts of quiet and peace ; once 
more took his way along the very mountain roads where, as a proud 
young colt, he had in former years returned from the Lewisburg 
Fair, with the blue ribbon, his first honor, fluttering from his bridle 
knot. 

Sixth Pupil. 

There were honors in plenty for him now. His master often 
rode him on visits to friends and relatives on the plantations through- 
out Virginia. Everywhere he was welcomed royally. As war had 
taught him courage, so peace taught him now the gentler virtues 
and softer honors of life. He learned to know the loving touch of 
women's hands, the glad welcome and caresses of little children, and 
all the quiet, daily loveliness that still bloomed in a land so lately 
visited by war. 

So quiet pleasure followed on quiet pleasure until 1870. In the 
autumn of that year his master lay stricken on his deathbed. The 
physicians, making an effort to rouse him, reminded him that he must 
make haste to get well, for old "Traveler" had been standing in the 
stable and needed exercise. But General Lee, knowing that his end 
was near, shook his head. "Traveler" still waited. And the kind 
hand and gentle voice did not come to him again. From then on he 
was to miss the familiar touch on his bridle. 

Seventh Pupil. 
But "Traveler" did not long survive his master. The good war- 
horse died very shortly, beloved and mourned by all who had known 
him. 

Eighth Pupil. 
As long as General Lee's name is remembered that of his gray 
war-horse "Traveler" will be lovingly associated with it. Nor will 
it be only an association of names. The qualities which have endeared 
General Lee to so many — courage, bravery, gentleness, fidelity and 
fortitude — these qualities were shared by "Traveler," the friend and 
companion and faithful servant of his master, and for these things, 
he, too, shall be remembered. 

— From Ladies Home Journal. 

57 



Lee's Parole. 

Well, General Grant, have you heard the news? 
How the orders are issued and ready to send 
For Lee, and the men in his staff commanded 

To be under arrest, — now the zvar's at an end?" 

"How so? Arrested for what?" he cried. 

"Oh, for trial as traitors, to be shot, or hung." 
The chiefs eye flashed with a sudden ire, 

And his face grew crimson as up he sprung, 
"Orderly, fetch me my horse" he said. 

Then into the saddle and up the street, 
As if the battle zvere raging ahead, 

Went the crash of the old war-charger's feet. 

"What is this I am told about Lee's arrest, — 

Is it true?" — and the keen eyes searched his soul. 
"It is true, and the order will be enforced!" 

"My word was given in their parole 
At Richmond, and that parole 

Has not been broken, — nor has my word, 
Nor will be until there is better cause 

For breaking than this I have lately heard." 
"Do you know, sir, whom you have thus addressed? 

I am the War Department's head — " 
"And I — am General Grant! 

At your peril order arrests!" he said. 

A friend is a friend, as zve reckon worth, 

Who will throw the gauntlet in friendship's fight; 
But a man is a man in peace or war 

Who will stake his all for an enemy's right. 
'Tzvas a hard-fought battle, but quickly zvon, — 

As a fight must be when 'tis soul to soid, — 
And 'f-ras years ago : but that honored zvord 

Presented the North in the South' s parole. 

— Marion Manznlle. 



*8 



"Marse Robert is Asleep." 

The following verses are based upon an incident of the Civil War. 
General B. D. Fry of the Confederate army, related the story to the author. 
General Lee, sorely fatigued by a hard day's march, lay down on a log 
beside the road and quickly fell asleep Soon a column of soldiers came 
down the road, laughing and talking as they marched along. A burly 
trooper, who had been standing guard by the General's improvised couch, 
rushed out into the road and whispered, "Hush! Marse Robert's asleep!" 
The word was passed down the line, and the ranks, instantly subdued, 
tiptoed past their sleeping leader. 

Had you heard the distant tramping 

On that glowing summer day! 
Had you seen our comrade running 

To meet us on the way! 
Oh, the wondrous, sudden silence, 

TW unmilitary creep, 
As down the line that caution ran, 

"Marse Robert is asleep." 

Give me your hand, Old Blue Coat, 

Let's talk of this awhile. 
For the prettiest march of all the war 

Was this of rank and file! 
Was the passing of that army, 

When 'twas hard, I zveen, to keep 
Those men from crying out "Hurrah! 

Marse Robert is asleep!" 

There lay that knightly figure, 

One hand upon his szvord, 
The other pressed above his heart, 

A vozv without a word! 
Two laurel leaves had fluttered down, 

For flozvers their vigil keep, 
And crown' d him, though I think they knew 
"Marse Robert was asleep!" 

In glorious old Westminster 

No monument of zuar, 
No marble story, half so grand 

As this our army sazv! 
Our leafy old Westminster — 

Virginia's woods — novo keep 
Immortal that low whisper, 
"Marse Robert is asleep!" 
59 



As we clasp hands, Old Blue Coat, 

List, Brother of the North: 
Had foreign foe assail' d your homes, 

You then had known his worth! 
Unbroken vigil o'er those homes 

It had been his to keep: 
Step lightly o'er the border, then, — 

"Marse Robert is asleep I" 

He's yours and mine, is Robert Lee, 

He's yours and mine, hurrah! 
These tears you've shed have sealed the past, 

And closed the wounds of war! 
Thus clasping hands, Old Blue Coat, 

We'll swear by the tears you weep, 
The sounds of war shall be muffled, — 
"Marse Robert is asleep!" 

— Miss S. B. Valentine in the "Outlook." 



60 



SONGS- 



LINCOLN PROGRAM. 

February Twelfth. 

"The Star Spangled Banner." 
"Battle Hymn of the Republic." 
"America." 




STATUE OF LINCOLN 



Address at Gettysburg. 

Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this 
contiennt a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the 
proposition that all men are created equal. Now we are engaged in a 
great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so con- 
ceived and so dedicated, can long endure. 

We are met on a great battlefield of that war. We have come to 
dedicate a portion of that field as a final resting place for those who 
here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether 
fitting and proper that we should do this. But in a larger sense we 
cannot dedicate, we cannot consecrate, we cannot hallow this ground. 
The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated 
it far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little 
note, nor long remember, what we say here, but it can never forget 
what they did here. It is for us, the living, rather to be dedicated here 
to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so 
nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great 
task remaining before us, that from these honored dead we take in- 
creased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full meas- 
ure of devotion ; that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not 
have died in vain ; that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth 
of freedom, and that government of the people, by the people, for the 
people, shall not perish from the earth. 



63 



Lincoln's Looks. 

(From "He Knew Lincoln." ) 
"You know I felt kind o' sorry for Lincoln when they began to 
talk about him for President. It seemed almost as if somebody was 
makin' fun of him. He didn't look like a president. I never had 
seen one, but we had pictures of 'em, all of 'em, from George Wash- 
ington down, and they looked somehow as if they were different kind 
of timber from us. Leastwise, that's always the way it struck me. 
Now, Mr. Lincoln, he was just like your own folks — no trouble to talk 
to him, no, siree. Somehow you just settled down comfortable to 
visitin' the minute he come in. I couldn't imagine George Washing- 
ton or Thomas Jefferson settin' here in that chair you're in tee-heein' 
over some blamed yarn of mine. None of us around town took much 
stock in his bein' elected at first— that is, none of the men, the women 
was different. They always believed in him, and used to say, 'You 
mark my word, Mr. Lincoln will be president. He's just made for it, 
he's good, he's the best man ever lived and he ought to be president/ 
I didn't see no logic in that then, but I dunno but there was some 
after all." 

—Ida M. Tarbell. 

Lincoln, the Man of the People. 

When the Norn-Mother saw the Whirlwind Hour, 

Threatening and darkening as it hurried on, 

She bent the strenuous heavens and came down 

To make a man to meet the mortal need. 

She took the tried clay of the common road — 

Clay warm yet with the genial heat of Earth, 

Dashed through it all a strain of prophecy; 

Then mixed a laughter with the serious stuff. 

It was a stuff to wear for centuries, 

A man that matched the mountains, and compelled 

The stars to look our way and honor us. 

The color of the ground was in him, the red earth; 

The tang and odor of the primal things — 

The rectitude and patience of the rocks; 

The gladness of the wind that shakes the com; 

The courage of the bird that dares the sea; 

The justice of the rain that loves all leaves; 

The pity of the snow that hides all scars; 

6 4 



The loving-kindness of the wayside zuell; 
The tolerance and equity of light 
That gives as freely to the shrinking zveed 
As to the great oak flaring to the ivind — 
To the grove's low hill as to the Matterhom 
That shoulders out the sky. 

And so he came. 

From prairie cabin up to Capitol, 

One fair Ideal led our chieftain on. 

Forever he burned to do his deed 

With the fine stroke and gesture of a king. 

He built the rail- pile as he built the State, 

Pouring his splendid strength through every blow, 

The conscience of him testing every stroke, 

To make his deed the measure of a man. 

So came the Captain with a mighty heart: 
And when the step of Earthquake shook the house, 
Wrenching the rafters from their ancient hold, 
He held the ridgepole up, and spiked again 
The rafters of the Home. He held his place — 
Held the long purpose like a grozving tree — 
Held on through blame and faltered not at praise. 
And zvhen he fell in whirlwind, he went down 
As zvhen a kingly cedar green zvith boughs 
Goes dozvn zvith a great shout upon the hills, 
And leaves a lonesome place aaginst the sky. 

— Edzvin Markham. 



Lincoln's Friends. 

(From "He Knew Lincoln.") 
"Mr. Lincoln didn't put on any airs. No, sir, and he didn't cut 
any of his old friends, either. Tickled to death to see 'em everytime, 
and they all come — blamed if every old man and woman in Sanga- 
mon county didn't trot up here to see him. They'd all knowed him 
when he was keepin' store down to New Salem and swingin' a chain — 
surveyed lots of their towns for 'em — he had — and then he'd elec- 
tioneered all over that county, too, so they just come in droves to bid 
him good-bye. I was over there one day when old Aunt Sally Lowdy 
came in the door. Aunt Sally lived down near New Salem, and I 
expect she'd mended Mr. Lincoln's pants many a time ; for all them 

65 



old women down there just doted on him and took care of him as if 
he w&s their own boy. Well, Aunt Sally stood lookin' kind a scared 
seein' so many strangers and not knowin precisely what to do, when 
Mr. Lincoln spied her. Quick as a wink he said, 'Excuse me, gentle- 
men,' and he just rushed over to that old woman aid shook hands with 
both of his'n and says, 'Now Aunt Sally, this is real kind of you to 
come and see me. How are you and how's Jake?' (Jake was her boy.) 
'Come right over here,' and he led her over, as if she was the biggest 
lady in Illinois, and says, 'Gentlemen, this is a good old friend of mine. 
She can make the best flapjacks you ever tasted, and she's baked 'era 
for me many a time.' Aunt Sally was jest as pink an rosy, she was 
so tickled. And she says, 'Abe' — all the old folks in Sangamon called 
him Abe. They knowed him as a boy, but don't you believe anybody 
ever did up here. Xo, sir, we said Mr. Lincoln. He was like one of 
us, but he wasn't no man to be over familiar with. 'Abe,' says Aunt 
Sally, 'I had to come and say good-by. They say down our way 
they're goin' to kill you if they get you down to Washington, but 
I don't believe it. I just tell 'em you're too smart to let 'em git ahead 
of you that way. I thought I'd come and bring you a present, knit 
'em myself,' and I'll be blamed if that old lady didn't pull out a great 
big pair of yarn socks and hand 'em to Mr. Lincoln. 

"Well, sir, it was the funniest thing to see Mr. Lincoln's face 
pucker up and his eyes twinkle and twinkle. He took them socks and 
held 'em up by the toes, one in each hand. They was the longest socks 
I ever see. 'That lady got my latitude and longitude 'bout right, 
didn't she, gentlemen?' he says, and then he laid 'em down and he 
took Aunt Sally's hand and he says tender-like, 'Aunt Sally, you 
couldn't a done nothin' which would have pleased me better. I'll take 
'em to Washington and wear 'em, and think of you when I do it.' And 
I declare he said it so first thing I knew I was almost blubbering and 
I wan't the only one nuther, and I bet he did wear 'em in Washing- 
ton. I can jest see him pullin' off his shoe and showin' them socks to 
Sumner or Seward or some other big bug that was botherin' him when 
he wanted to switch off on another subject and tellin' 'em the story 
about Aunt Sally and her flapjacks." 

—Ida M. Tarbell. 

Some Lincoln Thoughts. 

Do not worry, eat three square meals a day, say your prayers, be 
courteous to your creditors, keep your digestion good, steer clear of 
billiousness, exercise, go slow and go easy. Maybe there are other 
things that your special case requires to make you happy; but, 
friend, these, I reckon, will give you a good lift. 

66 



Gold is good in its place ; but living, patriotic men are better than 
gold. 

God must like common people or he would not have made so 
many. 

I am indeed very grateful to the brave men who have been strug- 
gling with the enemy in the field. 

This country, with its institutions, belongs to the people who 
inhabit it. 

Let us have that faith that right makes might; and in that faith 
let us, to the end, dare to do our duty as we understand it. 

The reasonable man has long since agreed that intemperance is 
one of the greatest, if not the greatest, of all evils among mankind. 

The purposes of the Almighty are perfect and must prevail, 
though we erring mortals may fail to accurately perceive in advance. 

Lincoln's Courage? 

(From "He Knew Lincoln/') 
"The country was just petered out with the everlastin' taxes an' 
fightin' and dyin'. It wasn't human nature to be patient any longer, 
and they just spit it out on Mr. Lincoln, and then, right on top of 
all the grumblin' and abusin', he up and made another draft. Course 
he was right, but I tell you nobody but a brave man would 'a' done 
such a thing at that minute; but he did it. It was hard on us out 
here. I tell you there wan't many houses in this country where there 
wan't mournin' goin' on. It didn't seem as if we could stand any more 
blood lettin'. Some of the boys round the State went down to see 
him about it. They came back lookin' pretty sheepish. Joe Medill, 
up to Chicago, told me about it onct. He said, 'We just told Mr. 
Lincoln we couldn't stand another draft. We was through sendin' 
men down to Petersburg to be killed in trenches. He didn't say nuth- 
in', just stood still, lookin' down till we'd all talked ourselves out; and 
then, after a while, he lifted up his head, and looked around at us, 
slow-like; and I tell you, Billy, I never knew till that minute that 
Abraham Lincoln could get mad clean through. He was just while 
he was that mad. "Boys," he says, "You ought to be ashamed of 
yourselves. You've helped make this war, and you've got to help 
fight it. You go home and raise them men and don't you dare come 
down here again blubberin' about what I tell you to do. I won't stan' 
it." We was so scared we never said a word. We just took our hats 
and went out like a lot of school-boys. Talk about Abraham Lincoln 
bein' easy ! When it didn't matter mebbe he was easy, but when it did 
you couldn't stir him any more'n you could a mountain.' ' : 

—Ida M. Tarbell. 
67 



Tributes to Lincoln. 

The life of Lincoln should never be passed by in silence by young 
or old. He touched the log cabin and it became the palace in which 
greatness was nurtured. He touched the forest and it became to him 
a church in which the purest and noblect worship of God was observed*. 
His occupation has become associated in our minds with the integrity 
of the life he lived. In Lincoln there was always some quality that 
fastened him to the people and taught them to keep time to the music 
of his heart. 

— David Swing, 

He was greater than Puritan, greater than Cavalier, in that he 
was American, and that in his homely form were first gathered the 
vast and thrilling forces of this ideal government — charging it with 
such tremendous meaning and so elevating it above human suffering 
that martyrdom, though infamously aimed, came as a fitting crown 
to a life consecrated from its cradle to human liberty. Let us, each 
cherishing his traditions and honoring his fathers, build with reverent 
hands to the type of this simple but sublime life, in which all types 
are honored, and in the common glory we shall win as Americans 
there will be plenty and to spare for your forefathers and for mine. 

— Henry IV. Grady. 

Lincoln's Funeral. 

(From "He Knew Lincoln." ) 
"Wan't long after that things began to look better. War began to 
move right smart, and, soon as it did, there wan't no use talkin' about 
anybody else for President. I see that plain enough, and, just as I 
told him, he was re-elected, and him an' Grant finished up the war in 
a hurry. I tell you it was a great day out here when we heard Lee 
had surrendered. 'Twas just like gettin' converted to have the war 
over. Somehow the only thing I could think of was how glad Mr. 
Lincoln would be. Me and ma reckoned he'd come right out and make 
us a visit and get rested, and we began right off to make plans about 
the reception we'd give him — brass band — parade — speeches — fire- 
works — everything. Seems as if I couldn't think about anything else. 
I was comin' down to open the store one mornin', and all the way 
down I was planum' how I'd decorate the windows and how I'd tie 
a flag on that old chair, when I see Hiram Jones comin' toward me. 
He looked so old and all bent over I didn't know what had happened. 
'Hiram,' I says, 'what's the matter? Be you sick?' 

" 'Billy,' he says, and he couldn't hardly say it, 'Billy, they've 
killed Mr. Lincoln.' 

68 



"Well, I just turned cold all over, and then I flared up. 'Hiram 
Jones/ I says, 'you're lyin', you're crazy. How dare you tell me that? 
It ain't so.' 

" 'Don't, Billy,' he says, 'don't go on so. I ain't lyin'. It's so. 
He'll never come back, Billy. He's dead !' And he fell to sobbin' out 
loud right there in the street, and somehow I knew it was true. 

"I come on down and opened the door. People must have pare- 
goric, ile and liniment, no matter who dies ; but I didn't put up the 
shades. I just sat here ana thought and thought and groaned and 
groaned. It seemed that day as if the country was plumb ruined and 
I didn't care much. All I could think of was him. He wan't goin' to 
come back. He wouldn't never sit here in that chair again. He was 
dead. 

"For days and days 'twas awful here. Waintin' and waitin . 
Seemed as if that funeral never would end. I couldn't bear to think 
of him bein' dragged around the country and havin' all that fuss made 
over him. He always hated fussin' so. Still, I s'pose I'd been mad if 
they hadn't done it. Seemed awful, though. I kind a felt that he 
belonged to us now, that they ought to bring him back and let us have 
him now, they'd killed him. 

"Of course they got here at last, and I must say it was pretty 
grand. All sorts of big bugs, Senators and Congressmen, and officers 
in grand uniforms and music and flags and crepe. They certainly 
didn't spare no pains givin' him a funeral. Only we didn't want 'em. 
We wanted to bury him ourselves, but they wouldn't let us. I went 
over onct where they'd laid him out for folks to see. I reckon I won't 
tell you about that. I ain't never goin' to get that out of my mind. 
I wisht a million times I'd never seen him lyin' there black and changed 
— that I could only see him as he looked sayin' 'good-by' to me up to 
the Soldiers' Home in Washington that night. 

"Ma and me didn't go to the cemetery with 'em. I couldn't stan' 
it. Didn't seem right to have sich goin's on here at home where he 
belonged, for a man like him. But we go up often now, ma and me 
does, and talk about him. Blamed if it don't seem sometimes as if 
he was right there — might step out any minute and say 'Hello, Billy,' 
any new stories?' 

"Yes, I knowed Abraham Lincoln; knowed him well; and I tail 
you there wan't never a better man made. Leastwise I don't want to 
know a better one. He just suited me — Abraham Lincoln did." 

—Ida M. Tarbell. 

69 



WASHINGTON PROGRAM. 

February Twenty-Second. 

SONGS- 

"The Red, White and Bine." 

America. 
"Columbia, the Gem of the Ocean.' 



Lines on Washington. 

Soldier and statesman, rarest unison; 

High-poised example of great duties done 

Simply as breathing, a world's honors worn 

As life's indifferent gifts to all men born; 

Dumb for himself, unless it zuere to God, 

But for his barefoot soldiers eloquent, 

Tramping the snow to coral where they trod, 

Held by his awe in hollow-eyed content; 

Modest, yet firm as Nature's self; unblamed 

Save by the men his nobler temper shamed; 

Never seduced through show of present good 

By other than unsetting lights to steer 

New-trimmed in Heaven, nor than his steadfast mood 

More steadfast, far from rashness as from fear; 

Rigid, but with himself first, grasping still 

In swerveless poise the wave-beat helm of will; 

Not honored then or now because he wooed 

The popular voice but that he still withstood; 

Broad-minded, higher-souled, there is but one 

Who was all this and ours, and all men's — Washington, 

— Lowell. 



73 



George Washington. 

It is often said that boys and girls of the present day feel a little 
nearer to George Washington than used to be the case ; that they like 
him better and are much less afraid of him. The reason for this, per- 
haps, is that everybody used to think of him first as General, and 
afterward as the Father of his Country, so that they could never quite 
love him as if he were their own father. 

All the descriptions made him appear rather grave and stiff, and 
none of his early biographers let us believe that he could ever laugh. 
You may read through half a dozen famous biographies of him with- 
out ever finding such a thing as laughter mentioned, and it was not 
until the cheerful Washington Irving wrote his life that so important 
a fact was really admitted. Even Irving felt obliged to hide it away 
in small type in a note to one of his pages, but there it forever stands. 

It appears that in camp a young officer told a story which the 
commander-in-chief found so amusing that he not only laughed, but 
threw himself on the ground and rolled over and over to get to the 
end of his laughter. Fancy the picture ! The Father of his Country, 
a man six feet and some inches tall, rolling over and over in the attempt 
to stop laughing! But the use of the picture is that it has saved for 
us the human Washington. We once thought of him as a stiff and 
formal image, or what is called a lay-figure. Now we think of him 
as a man. ****** 

— Thomas W entworth Higinson. 

Story of Washington. 

The "Story of Washington" may be told by fifteen selected pupils from 
nine to fourteen years of age, with songs by the entire school, recitations 
by pupils chosen because of their ability to recite well, and a flag drill by 
eight boys. 

First Pupil. 
Today we celebrate the birthday of George Washington because 
he was a brave and good man, and because he did so much for his 
country. 

Song by School — Hymn for Washington's Birthday. 

— Chas. S. Davis. 
All hail, thou glorious morn 
That Washington was bom! 

All hail to thee! 
Whether thy skies be bright, 
Or veiled in clouds of night, 
To thee in joyous right 
Our song shall be. 
74 



All come with glad acclaim, 
To sing and praise thy name, 

Washington! 
O'er all this land so free, 
Hearts turn with pride to thee, 
Champion of liberty, 

Columbia's son. 
When Britain's tyrant hand 
Smote freedom's native land 

With mad decree. 
Thy gleaming blade, raised high, 
'Mid war-clouds rolling by, 
Wrote on thy country's sky, 

<c Great land, be free!" 

Let Freedom each year bring 
Chaplets as fresh as spring 

To deck his son! 
While Freedom's angels stand 
Guard o'er that flag and land, 
Saved by the mighty hand 

Of Washington. 

Second Pupil. 
George Washington was born in 1732, near the banks of the beau- 
tiful Potomac, in Westmoreland county, Virginia. It was a very small 
place called Bridge's Creek. 

Recitation — The Twenty-second of February. 

— William Cullen Bryant. 

Pale is the February sky, 

And brief the midday's sunny hours; 

The wind-swept forest seems to sigh 

For the szveet time of leaves and flowers. 

Yet has no month a prouder day, 

Not even when the Summer broods 
O'er meadows in their fresh array, 

Or Autumn tints the glowing woods. 

For this chill season now again 

Brings, in its annual round, the morn 

When, greatest of the sons of men, 

Our glorious Washington was born! 

75 



Amid the wreck of thrones shall live, 

Unmarred, nn dimmed, our hero's fame; 

And years succeeding years shall give 
Increase of honors to his name. 

Third Pupil. 
When Washington was a boy he was fond of playing games and 
of sports. He liked to pitch quoits, toss bars and try his strength in 
leaping and wrestling. His father died when Washington was ten 
years old. George was a very truthful boy and always treated his 
mother with tenderness and respect. 

Recitation — Like George Washington. 
We cannot all be Washingtons, 

And have our birthdays celebrated; 
But zve can love the things he loved, 

And we can hate the things he hated. 

He loved the truth, he hated lies, 

He minded what his mother taught him , 

And every day he tried to do 

The simple duties that it brought him. 

Perhaps the reason little folks 

Are sometimes great when they grow taller, 
Is just because, like Washington, 

They do their best when they are smaller. 

Fourth Pupil. 
This is an example of his truthfulness not so well known as the 
story of the hatchet. When he had killed his mother's favorite colt 
he told her all about it. She said, "I regret the loss of my favorite, 
but I forgive you because you have had the courage to tell me the 
truth at once." 

Song by School — A Brave Soldier. 
Tune: "Hold the Fort." 

Though wc never may be soldiers 

On the battlefield, 
Though zve may not carry banner, 

Bayonet or shield; 
Each man can be as true and valiant 

Till life's work is done, 
Each can be as brave a soldier 

As George Washington. 

There are mighty hosts of evil, 
Armies great and strong. 

76 



Each can be a little soldier 

Fighting all day long. 
Let us ever fight them bravely, 

Let us valiant be; 
Fight the host of pride and envy, 

Pride and cruelty. 

Fifth Pupil. 

Some of Washington's maxims were : 

Labor to keep alive in your breast that little spark of celestial fire 
called conscience. 

Speak not evil of the absent; it is unjust. 

Commerce and industry are the best mines of a nation. 

Associate with men of good quality if you esteem your own repu- 
tation, for it is better to be alone than in bad company, 

Let your heart feel for the afflictions and distresses of every one. 

Be courteous to all, but intimate with few ; and let those few be 
well tried before you give them your confidence. 

Recitation — Washington's Birthday. 

'Tis splendid to live so grandly 

That, long after you are gone 
The things you did are remembered, 

And recounted under the sun; 
To live so bravely and purely, 

That a nation stops on its way, 
And once a year with banner and drum, 

Keeps the thought of your natal day. 

'Tis splendid to have a record, 

So zvhite and free from stain 
That, held to the light, it shozvs no blot, 

Though tested and tried amain; 
That age to age forever 

Repeats its story of love, 
And your birthday lives in a nation's heart 

All other days above. 

And this is Washington's glory, 

A steadfast soul and true, 
Who stood for his country's honor 

When his country's days zuere few. 
And nozv zvhen its days are many, 

And its flag of stars is flung 
To the breeze in defiant challenge, 

His name is on every tongue. 
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Yes, it's splendid to live so bravely, 

To be so great and strong, 
That your memory is ever a tocsin 
To rally the foes of the wrong; 
To live so proudly and purely 

That your people pause in their way, 

And year by year with banner and drum, 

Keep the thought of your natal day. 

— Margaret Songster. 
Sixth Pupil. 
On April 19, 1775, the Revolutionary war began. A commander- 
in-chief was needed and Washington was chosen to fill this position. 
He set out from Philadelphia, June 21, for Cambridge, Massachusetts, 
where, under the historic elm, he assumed command of the American 
army. 

Song by School — Yankee Doodle. 

Seventh Pupil. 
Washington inspired his soldiers with reverence and enthusiasm. 
He never spared himself in any way and was always first in battle. 
The bullets often grazed his hair and riddled his cloak, but he would 
tell his soldiers, "Stand fast and receive the enemy." 

Eighth Pupil. 
The British left Boston March 17, 1776, in seventy-eight ships 
and transports. On July 4th of that year thirteen colonies signed a 
declaration to the effect that they should be free and independent of 
all allegiance to the British crown forever. 

Ninth Pupil. 
Not quite a year later, in June 1777, our national flag was 
adopted. A committee accompanied by General George Washington 
called on Mrs. Betsy Ross of Philadelphia to give her the order for 
our first flag of stars and stripes. Washington himself drew the 
design. Stars and Stripes was first unfurlea August 3, 1777, over 
Fort Schuyler, a military post in New York State. 
Flag Salute by School. 
(The school rises and stands in military position, facing a large flag.) 
"Flag of our great Republic, Inspirer in battle, Guardian of our 
homes, whose stars and stripes stand for bravery, purity, truth, and 
Union — We Salute Thee." (At the word "we" raise the right arm 
and bring the hand to the forehead ; at "salute," give the military 
salute ; at "thee" drop the arm again to position.) 

"We, the children of many lands, who find rest under thy folds, 
do pledge our lives, our hearts, and sacred honor, to protect Thee, our 
Country, and the liberty of the American people forever." 

Song by School (Still Standing) — Star Spangled Banner. 
A Catting from the Normal Instructor. 

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ARBOR PROGRAM. 

March Fifteenth. 
SONGS- 

"Folksong---' 'O Hemlock Tree" 

(From Common School Book of Vocal Music— by Silver, Burdette & Co.) 

"The Woodpecker"— by Nevin. 

(From Common School Book of Vocal Music by Silver, Burdette & Co.) 

"Farewell to the Woods" 

(From "Favorite Son^s and Hymns,'' — American Book Co.) 



Arbor Day. 

There breathes, for those who understand, 

A voice from every bower and tree, 
And in the work of Nature's hand 
Lies nature's best philosophy. 

— Selected. 



\V hen the Green Gits Back in the Trees. 

In Spring, when the green gits back in the trees, 

And the sun comes out and stays, 
And yer boots pulls on with a good tight squeeze, 

And you think of yer bare-foot days; 
When you ort to work and you want to not, 

And you and yer wife agree 
It's time to spade up the garden-lot, 

When the green gits back in the trees — 
Well, work is the least o my idees 

When the green, you know, gits back in the trees I 

When the green gits back in the trees, and bees 

Is a-buzzin' aroun' ag'in 
In that kind of a lazy go-as-you-please 

Old gait they bum roun' in; 
When the grouris all bald whare the hay-rick stood, 

And the crick's riz, and the breeze 
Coaxes the bloom in the old dogzvood, 

And the green gits back in the trees, — 
/ like, as I say, in sich scenes as these, 
The time when the green gits back in the trees! 

When the whole tail-feathers o' Wintertime 

Is all pulled out and gone! 
And the sap it thaws and begins to climb, 

And the swet it starts out on 
A feller's forred, a-gittin' down 

At the old spring on his knees — 
/ kindo' like jest a-loaferin' roun' 

When the green gits back in the trees — 

Jest a-potterin' round as I — dnm — please — 

When the green, you know, gits back in the trees 

— James Whitcomb Riley. 



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How to Plant and Gare for a Tree. 

Just before setting out the tree the ground should be plowed with 
a common breaking plow. Throw the furrows out so there will be 
a furrow in which to set the trees. 

Select sound, straight trees. All broken roots should be cut off 
with a sharp knife. Dig the holes for the trees large enough to per- 
mit the roots to settle naturally at the bottom of the hole without 
being cramped. Fill around the roots with loose dirt, filling the hole 
about half full. Puddle each tree by pouring water around it to 
settle the dirt. After the water is absorbed finish filling the hole 
with loose dirt. 

Millions of trees set out each year died from want of proper care. 
The first two or three years the young trees must be cultivated as one 
would cultivate corn. In case of dry weather once a month or oftener 
a hole should be dug around the trees and filled with water. This 
should be done just before night. Early next morning the hole should 
be filled with loose dry dirt. The dust mulch will prevent evapora- 
tion and will keep the dirt around the roots of the trees moist. 

—H. J. Miller. 



My Neighbor. 

/ have a new neighbor just over the zvay, 

She was moving in on the first of May. 

When she took in her household goods, I saw 

They were nothing but rubbish and sticks and straw; 

But when I made her a call just nozv 

I found she had furnished her house somehow, 

All trim and tidy and nice and neat — 

The prettiest cottage in all the street. 

If thistledown silk zuas her carpet fine, 

.4 thousand times better and softer than mine; 

Her curtains, to shut out the heat and light, 

Were zvoven of blossoms, pink and white; 

And the dainty roof of her tiny home 

Was a broad green leaf like an emerald dome. 

'Tis the cosiest nook that you ever did see, 

Mrs. Yellowbird's house in the apple tree. 

— Selected. 

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The Blossoms on the Trees. 

Blossoms crimson, white, or blue! 

Purple, pink, and every line. 
From sunny skies, to tintings drowned 

In dusky drops of dew, 
I praise you all, wherever found, 

And love you through and through; — 
But, Blossoms On The Trees, 
With your breath upon the breeze, 
There's nothing all the world around 

As half as sweet as you! 

Could the rhymer only wring 

All the sweetness to the lees 
Of all the kisses clustering 

In juicy Uscd-to-becs, 
To dip his rhymes therein and sing 

The blossoms on the trees, — 
c '0 Blossoms on the Trees," 

He ico ul d twitter, trill, and coo, 
"However sweet, such songs as these 

Are not as sweet as you: — 
For you are blooming melodies 

The eyes may listen to!" 

— lames IV hit comb Riley 



Facts About Trees for Little Ones. 

1. Cutting down trees spoils the beauty of the landscape. 
I would not like to live where there were no trees. 

2. There are few birds where there are no trees. They have no 
place to make their homes. 

3. Taking away the trees takes away the protection from our 
tender fruit trees. 

4. Where there are no trees the snows melt and go off too rap- 
idly; the moisture that should sink into the soil is carried away in 
the floods. 

84 



5- Because our forests are taken away we have severe droughts 
every year. 

6. One full grown elm tree gives out fifteen tons of moisture 
in twenty-four hours. A large sunflower plant gives off three pints 
of water in one day. 

7. The trees give us lumber, fuel, wood, pulp for newspaper?., 
cork, bark for tanning, wild fruits, nuts, resin, turpentine, oils and 
various products for medicines. 

8. We should have greater extremes of heat and cold if it were 
not for trees and forests. 

9. The leaves of trees catch the rain and hold it a little while; 
then they drop the water a little at a time ; this is better for the ground. 

10. The old leaves make a deep sponge carpet in the woods and 
this keeps the ground from freezing. If the earth does not freeze i: 
takes up the rain better. 

11. We might have dangerous floods if we did not have trees. 
The trunks and roots of trees stop the water that comes pouring down 
the hillside. 

12. I will be very careful not to hurt any tree but will call every 
tree my friend. 

From Arbor Day and Memorial Day Annual, Wyoming Schools. 



Nature. 

Nature! I do not aspire 

To be the highest in thy quire, 

To be a meteor in the sky, 

Or comet that may range on high; 

Only a zephyr that may blow 

Among the reeds by the river loiv; 

Give me thy most privy place 

In some withdrawn, unpublic mead 
Let me sigh upon a reed; 
Or in the woods, with leafy din, 
Whisper the still evening in: 
Some still work give me to do, — 
Only — be it near to you! 
Where to run my airy race. 



8S 



For Vd rather be thy child 
And pupil, in the forest wild, 
Than be the king of men elsewhere, 
And most sovereign slave of care: 
To have one moment of thy daivn, 
Than share the city's year forlorn. 

— Selected. 



Apple Blossoms. 

Have you seen an apple orchard in the spring? in the spring? 

An English apple orchard in the spring? 

When the spreading trees are hoary 

With their zvealth of promised glory, 

And the mavis pipes his story 

In the spring? 

Have you plucked the apple blossoms in the spring? in the spring? 

And caught their subtle odors in the spring? 

Pink buds bursting at the light, 

Crumpled petals baby-white, 

Just to touch them a delight! 

In the spring! 

Have you walked beneath the blossoms in the spring? in the spring? 

Beneath the apple blossoms in the spring? 

When the pink cascades were falling, 

And the silver brooklets brazvling, 

And the cuckoo bird is calling 

In the spring? 

Have you seen a merry bridal in the spring? in the spring? 

In an English apple country in the spring? 

When the brides and maidens wear 

Apple blossoms in their hair; 

Apple blossoms everyzvhere, 

In the spring? 

86 



// you have not, then you know not, in the spring, in the spring, 

Half the color, beauty, wonder of the spring, 

No sight can I remember 

Half so precious, half so tender, 

As the apple blossome render 

In the spring! 

— William Wesley Martin. 



Knee Deep in June. 

Tell yon what I like the best — 

'Long about knee-deep in June, 

'Bout the time strazvberries melts 
On the vine, — some afternoon 

Like to jes' git out and rest, 

And not zvork at nothin else! 

Orchard's where I'd rurther be — 
Needn't fence it in fer me! 

Jes' the whole sky overhead, 
And the whole airth underneath. 



Jes' a-sorto' lazin' there — 

S'lazy, 'at you peek and peer 

Through the wavin' leaves above, 
Like a feller 'ats in love 

And dont know it, ner don't keer! 

Sun out in the fields kin sizz, 
But flat on yer back, I guess, 

In the shade's zvhere glory is! 
That's jes' what I'd like to do 
Stiddy fer a year er tzvo ! 

— James Whitcomb Riley. 

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Leader Print 
Guthrie, Okla. 



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